


Bases Loaded

by wheel_pen



Series: Alice [9]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 17:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Alice progress from first base to a homerun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bases Loaded

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Alice, my original female character, is new in Smallville. There is something special about her, and she and Clark form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. This series starts after the end of the second season—after the destruction of the spaceship and Clark abruptly leaving town.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This story may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Part I: First Base

_~very late Sept/very early Oct, junior year_

 

Clark had twice made out in vehicles. Both, in his mind, did not entirely count because he was hopped up on red K at the time, but he still remembered them. Once was in Lex’s red Ferrari, with Jessie, who was probably scarred for life by her brief stay in Smallville. He had been very desperate to do something, _anything_ , that was as un-Clark-Kent-like as possible, and she had been very eager to help. Things had gotten a little... heated, but between their mutual enthusiasm, the darkness, and his admitted inexperience, Clark really didn’t recall a lot of helpful details. Mostly he remembered things like _hot_ , _wet_ , _soft_ , _hard_ , _rough_ , _slick_ , _let her breathe_ , _don’t squeeze too hard_. Clark was fairly certain that if the evening had been allowed to progress, he would have ended up with a ‘first time’ experience that was disappointing and confusing, and performed with a virtual stranger as well. At the time he had been furious that they were still fully clothed when the cop car flashed its lights over them warningly, and ticked at Jessie when she freaked out and demanded he drive her home. Now, however, he considered that event fortunate.

The second time was in Pete’s blue Trans Am, with Chloe, in the backseat while Pete drove. The making-out part had then been continued in the Talon, at least until Clark’s shirt had been ripped off and tossed aside, throwing the chunk of red K Pete had slipped in the pocket out of range and snapping him back into reality. Chloe and Pete were, of course, under the influence of a parasite from the Kawatche caves at the time, possibly one of alien origin, but definitely one that affected their adrenal glands and made them behave recklessly. Conveniently, they had also both forgotten everything they’d done while so affected, though Clark didn’t have that luxury. At any rate, that session had also been rather fevered and chaotic, although at least it was unlikely they would have gotten very far, not with Pete and/or the patrons of the Talon right there. The only things he could remember consciously thinking were, _Why the h—l not, Chloe’s cute_ and of course the usual _Don’t break anything_.

Clark had also made out once in the barn with Lana, the evening before his birthday when she’d brought him a surprise cake, and again with Lana shortly thereafter under a tree in Baker’s Field, after they’d been out riding horses. That was the day before he’d blown up the spaceship, the day before he’d sent everything he loved crashing down around him. They had kissed before, of course—when she had been affected by the Nicodemus flower, when he had been affected by the red Kryptonite, and so forth. But this was different. There was no outside chemical/radiation/meteor/mind control influence this time; it was simply what Clark had always wanted, wanted since he had been five years old and saw Lana for the first time at the library and fallen hopelessly, breathlessly, endlessly, childishly in love. It was sweet, achingly so, to finally taste what he had longed for all those years. The first time, in the barn, had been tentative, with Clark not really believing he wasn’t just hallucinating, certain that any second she was going to pull away and run home. He had been careful, so careful, not to push too hard, not to frighten her away with all the fantasies he had pent up inside, that he had dared move his lips or his hand only when he thought she would get the wrong idea and pull away if he didn’t.

The second time, in the field, had been—determined. Serious. Sad. With the threat from Jor-El fresh in his memory Clark felt like that could very well be his last day of life as he knew it, and he wanted nothing but good memories from it. As it turned out, it _was_ his last day of life as he had known it. Next had followed the excruciating physical pain of Jor-El burning that mark into his flesh, the argument with Chloe while he’d been frantic to carry out his illicit plan, another round of pain as he placed the Kryptonite key into the ship, the explosion, the sight of his parents’ truck overturned on the road, the look on his father’s face when he heard that his mother had lost the baby... then the temporary relief with the red Kryptonite ring and everything he’d done in Metropolis. After that day, everything had changed. And even though many things had been repaired since then, they would never be the _same_ —he would never again be the person who had wanted nothing more in life than permission to kiss Lana Lang. His gifts had not come in a vacuum; there were expectations, responsibilities attached to them, forces so much larger than himself who wanted to control them.

And Clark honestly didn’t think Lana was strong enough to stand by his side while he fought to make his own destiny. Oh, she had become much stronger than she was just a couple years ago—before she started figuring out what _she_ wanted from life, before the Talon, before those kick-a-s self-defense moves. But if he told her the truth she would hate him for lying in the first place, and even if she got over her hate she would never trust him again, and even if she got over _that_ she would still leave eventually—maybe the first time she saw the veins pop out of his flesh, black and churning, when he was too close to the green meteor rocks, or the first time Jor-El summoned him to the caves for a chat, or the first time Professor Willowbrook called him “Naman,” the savior of his people. Or maybe he would rush out on their six-month anniversary to deal with a natural disaster or a meteor mutant on the loose, and when he came back she would be gone, gone for good, sick of him always leaving her to help someone else.

Those were his “fantasies” about Lana now. Before he had kissed her, really kissed her, his daydreams, night dreams, and a good many private moments in between were filled with her face, her moans, her body, her voice, all responding to him in pleasure. After he had kissed her, he could start thinking _beyond_ the first kiss, and he realized there was no way they could share a future together. If Jor-El thought that he was doing Clark a favor by designating Lana, “the one whom his heart had long desired,” as Clark’s mate—or if Jor-El was trying to fulfill some sick, vicarious fantasy by matching his son with the look-alike great-niece of the Earth woman _he_ had loved—then the disembodied artificial intelligence lodged in the cave wall was going to be sorely disappointed.

Not that Clark didn’t care about Lana anymore; on the contrary, he still felt for her as a friend, and sometimes he had his moments when he wished fervently that they could try again, as more than friends. He still felt the need to protect her, especially since most of the threats against her seemed to stem directly or indirectly from _him_. He still loved her, or wanted to at least. But he wasn’t _in_ love with her. And that realization tainted all his memories of their interactions, as much as being under a red K haze tainted the others.

The impetus for all this debate and musing and reminiscing was, of course, the girl with whom Clark was _currently_ making out in the barn. It wasn’t the first time he’d sat in the barn, on the old, lumpy couch, kissing Alice; it was in fact the _eighth_ time, in two weeks. Which was a record in more ways than one. And it also had proven to Clark that once you had done it several times, with the same person, without chemical influence, and without being afraid they were going to run off in the middle and hate you forever, you could actually start remembering useful tidbits like which parts felt good to _you_ and which parts felt good to _them_ , and which parts you were supposed to stay away from just yet (an important lesson Clark had learned during Session #2, when he realized Alice was going to be _way_ more strict than any of his previous make-out partners, including Lana).

Clark liked Alice. That much was certain to him. He was extremely attracted to her, both physically and emotionally. They didn’t _just_ make out; they watched movies together, talked about everything, went for walks, did homework, had coffee. And doing all these things, with Alice, made him feel... happy. Clark didn’t want to ascribe anything more to it than that; besides his intense fixation on Lana, there had also been the incident with Kyla (whom he had _kissed_ , but technically it didn’t rise to meet Clark’s threshold of “making out”), when he was convinced _she_ was the one he was meant to be with forever, so if he started thinking that way about yet a _third_ girl, with his junior year in high school barely started, even _he_ was going to think he was crazy. Or at least as swoony and overdramatic as Byron Moore, the Jekyll/Hyde poet boy.

But now they were on his couch, in his loft, in his barn, and their chemistry homework was done and they had each put another two pages on their literature essays, and his chores were done and her shift at the Talon didn’t start until six. Which left just enough time for Clark to slip his hand into her dark, curly, silky hair, tilt her head back a little, nibble on her lower lip, caress her upper arm with his other hand, trail his lips down her jaw... moan as she nipped at his earlobe, toyed with the collar of his shirt, shifted her leg a little to cover his... hiss when her long fingers brushed his stomach, when she kissed her way down his neck, when he realized with intense disappointment she wouldn’t be able to leave a mark for everyone to see...

It was—fun. It was—enjoyable. It was—not something Clark wanted to end any time soon. And then, all of a sudden, it was something more. Maybe it was the little sounds she made that tipped him over the edge, or his reckless thought of wondering how those soft mounds that brushed against his chest would feel in his hands, or the feel of her knee-high boot laces rubbing his leg through his jeans. Whatever it was, the temperature in the barn seemed to go up ten degrees, and kept rising, and Clark’s awareness of his surroundings dropped proportionally. Instead of half-listening for the approach of his parents or any trouble, of glancing every now and then out the window to see how long the shadows were and thus what time it was, of occasionally feeling the rough finish of the couch on the back of his hands—all of his senses seemed to focus on Alice and what Alice was doing to _him_ , and nothing else. He heard nothing but her moans and his own, saw nothing but her hair and her face and her body and more often the back of his own eyelids, smelled only the shampoo she used and under that some heady scent that could only be _Alice_ , felt only the fabric of her clothes and the smoothness of her skin and hair, tasted only her mouth and her skin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice was screaming that he should pull back, be careful, take a break, let things cool down, but Clark ignored it because everything they were doing felt _so d—n good_...

Dimly he became aware of someone shouting his name, someone who was farther away than Alice, and he forced his head up and around just as his father came thumping up the steps to the loft. “Clark! Didn’t you hear me?”

“What’s wrong?” Clark asked, jumping to his feet.

Jonathan stared at him for half a second, then looked up at the ceiling above them—which was smoking. “The roof’s on fire!”

Clark turned back to Alice and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” He barely had time to notice that she had gone even paler than usual and was staring at the charring spot above them in something close to horror.

The three of them scrambled down the stairs and exited the barn, much to the relief of Martha, who was dragging a hose around from the spigot in the garden. Sure enough, the roof of the barn had caught fire, bizarrely centered almost directly above where Clark and Alice had been sitting. It didn’t look like it was spreading too fast—thank goodness for the multiple rain showers or the wood would have been as good as kindling to start a real inferno—but they certainly weren’t going to take any chances. Clark and Jonathan immediately ducked back inside to grab a ladder from the barn while Alice helped Martha with the hose. The ladder propped against the side of the building, Clark gave his father a meaningful look that clearly said, “ _You’re_ staying on the ground,” then climbed up himself, hose in hand, determinedly not looking down.

“Okay!” Clark called when he was high enough, and Martha turned the water on full blast. In just a few moments the fire was extinguished and Clark could put his feet back on firm ground again.

The crisis successfully averted, the three Kents stood there silently for a moment, staring up at the steaming, blackened roof in contemplation. “I don’t get it,” Clark finally said. “Why would part of the roof just randomly catch on fire?”

Jonathan leaned closer to his son, out of Alice’s hearing, and replied, “I was hoping _you_ might have the answer to that, son.”

Clark frowned at him, not quite sure what he meant, but before he could answer he spied Alice sitting by herself on the porch steps and he hurried over to her. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, dropping down beside her.

“Oh, um, yeah, I’m fine,” she answered quickly, too quickly.

“Well... it’s all over now,” Clark assured her. “Probably not too much damage...”

“It just—“ She seemed about to say something, then changed her mind.

“What?” he questioned, trying not to pry.

“It just reminded me of the fire in Gotham,” Alice confessed quickly, staring down at her hands twisting in her lap.

Clark reached over and took one, enfolding it in his larger hand. “It’s okay, it’s out, no one was hurt,” he told her firmly. He didn’t want her to start associating him with _bad_ things, not now, just when he was beginning to _really_ enjoy spending time with her. Clark caught her eye and smiled encouragingly, and she gave him a tiny, half-hearted smile in return, which didn’t reassure him. “You, um—you wanna stay for dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“No, I can’t, I have work,” Alice reminded him. She glanced at her watch. “I should get going, actually.” She pulled her hand away from Clark’s and stood up as he tried to conceal his disappointment. “Um, I just need to—get my stuff from the...” She trailed off, staring back at the barn. Clearly she was reluctant to go back in.

“Um, I’ll get it,” Clark offered quickly, hopping up. “If you want. It might be kind of smoky in there...”

Alice nodded and gave him another little smile, and Clark hurried into the barn and up to the loft. It wasn’t too smoky actually, though from inside he could see a charred oval exactly above where they’d been sitting on the couch. Shaking his head at the oddities that could only occur in Smallville, Clark gathered up Alice’s books and stuffed them into her bag, then jogged back downstairs to the yard.

“Here you go,” he announced, handing her the bookbag. “No harm done.”

“Thanks, Clark.” Alice slung the bookbag over her shoulder and paused awkwardly.

_She must have been really freaked by the fire,_ Clark thought. Alice was usually so confident about everything. “Hey, let me give you a ride to the Talon,” he said, turning towards his truck.

“No, that’s okay,” Alice answered, almost before he’d finished speaking. “I’ll just—walk.”

“Back into town?” Clark asked dubiously. “It’s like two miles.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” she admitted slowly. “Sure, then. Thanks.”

Alice said very little on the trip into town, though she _did_ lean over and give Clark a quick kiss before she slid out of the truck in front of the Talon, so he figured he wasn’t totally out of luck. Still, as he drove back home he couldn’t help worrying about her.

As Clark pulled back into the yard he could smell dinner being readied and hurried inside to wash up. “You dropped Alice off at work?” Martha asked him casually, slicing up some pot roast.

“Yeah, her shift’s from six until close tonight,” he answered distractedly, soaping his hands.

“Does she just walk home from the Talon at night?” Martha continued worriedly.

“No, I think her mom comes to pick her up.”

“Hard working,” Jonathan commented approvingly, setting a basket of rolls on the table. “It’s a good trait.”

“Yeah...” Clark didn’t even notice that his father was trying to give Alice a compliment. “I’ve just been thinking about that fire,” he went on, turning to face his parents as he dried his hands. “Was anything strange going on?”

Martha glanced up at him from the mashed potatoes twice before answering. “I didn’t see anything,” she finally said. “Jonathan?”

“Nope.”

They both looked pointedly at Clark, who frowned in confusion. “What?”

“You and Alice were in the barn... ‘doing homework,’” Jonathan commented carefully. “On the couch, with your books on the table. At least when _I_ got there.”

“Okay, so we were _kissing_ ,” Clark confirmed, a little defensively, glad that he was able to admit that without _too_ much heat rising to his cheeks. “So? Alice and I are dating.”

“No, the kissing is fine, honey,” Martha assured him, and Clark sighed at the ridiculously uncomfortable conversation. “It’s just—well—your heat vision...”

Clark stared at her for a moment. “Mom! I’ve—got that under control!” Now he really _was_ blushing.

“Well, honey, we were just thinking that in the... heat of the moment...”

“No!” Clark interrupted. He couldn’t believe he was trying to explain this to his parents. Perhaps he could just sink through the floor right now? “Trust me, the heat vision... going off is _not_ something that happens without me noticing. And it _definitely_ didn’t happen.”

“Well, alright, son,” Jonathan told him placatingly, as they settled at the table. “I guess this _is_ Smallville, strange things are bound to happen...”

 

Part II: Second Base

_~January, junior year_

 

Frankly Clark couldn’t remember a school dance that _hadn’t_ ended with him running off to defeat a meteor mutant or at least battle a natural disaster, and given that this was the Winter Formal of his junior year, that was a lot of dances abruptly cut off. Sometimes he entertained himself by wondering if there were secret, really cool things that people did at dances which happened only _after_ he’d left—kind of like the way he wondered if ladies’ rooms really had plush couches and coffee makers and widescreen TVs and masseurs hidden behind the forbidding swing doors. Tonight at least, he’d discovered that nothing secret _or_ cool occurred at the end of the dance, this dance anyway, but that was okay—it was such a relief to make it through the entire evening, Clark didn’t care if the DJ just made some lame jokes and then turned the lights on, leading the exhausted, slightly sweaty, partially deaf and blind crowd to stumble out into the light snow to their vehicles.

Of course, Clark reflected, the evening was not yet over. Something could still happen before he got home and went to bed. The ‘something’ turned out to be less meteor-derived and more hormonally-driven, however, as Clark exchanged some kind of non-verbal signal with Alice and pulled the truck off the road. There was some awkward shifting and climbing, maneuvers made more complicated by the fact that they wanted to keep their lips in contact with each other’s the entire time, but eventually Clark ended up on the passenger side, legs stretched out towards the steering wheel, with Alice straddling his lap, and just the use of the word _straddle_ was enough to make the blood start rushing to all kinds of pleasant but slightly uncomfortable locations.

Clark thought that _kissing_ was a ridiculous term that didn’t encompass nearly the breadth and depth of activities that could be achieved with nothing but lips and tongue and teeth. If two people somehow were—in tune—with each other, almost any message could be communicated through this range of acts traditionally and lamely known as ‘a kiss’... anything from, “Wow, you looked beautiful tonight,” to “I wish this moment would never end,” to “After this we need to _stop_ or things are going to get messy.” Okay, perhaps it wasn’t exactly an international language in which to negotiate peace treaties, but it served Clark and Alice well enough.

She was wearing a beautiful deep blue dress, the same color as her eyes, and Clark had practically been rendered speechless upon seeing her in it for the first time. Not a big shock there, Alice always looked amazing when she got dressed up—well, she pretty much always looked amazing anyway. Chloe had snipped something about it not really being a dress for a _formal_ dance, since it was only cocktail-length or some other ridiculous phrase involving a drink, but since Chloe’s dress was accented with fake orange feathers Clark figured she didn’t make much of a fashion critic.

Clark knew he should keep his hands on her waist like a good boy—Alice was very clear about the Forbidden Zones and he didn’t want to ruin the mood by having her pull away to glare at him. He told his hands to stay in neutral territory, trying to lock them into place with pressure enough to leave bruises on another girl. It was totally unplanned, then, that in the course of tracing the satiny smooth fabric of the dress he encountered something warm and round—not _something_ , he knew what it was, and he knew he ought to pull his hand away, but she wasn’t protesting yet so instead he pushed his luck.

They were... _soft_ , he was surprised to realize. Well, of course, they were basically lumps of fatty tissue, not muscle or bone, and he knew he was far gone when even _that_ thought didn’t dissuade him. But he’d imagined them being... more firm, perhaps. Bouncy but almost hard, like baseballs attached to a chest with pieces of elastic. Alright, _that_ thought stilled his hand, but only for a moment. They just looked so... _substantial_ on most girls, even the tiny ones, a fixed part of the landscape that had a certain range of motion—most evident when the girls’ gym class came jogging by—but were unyielding enough to bend all those tight sweaters and t-shirts to their will.

Of course he wasn’t _complaining_ about them being soft, about them squishing pleasantly in his hands—not that he was _mangling_ them, at least he hoped he wasn’t, and judging from the pleased sounds Alice was making, whatever he was doing was okay. It was just—he pressed and they _gave_ , a sensation completely unlike the solid presence of the rest of Alice (or rather, the rest he’d been allowed to explore), and Clark _really_ liked it. He was fascinated by it, in fact, along with the warmth and the shape and the very, very interesting pebbled regions on the front, the ones that _really_ made Alice moan into his mouth when he ran his thumb over them.

Alice’s hands weren’t exactly staying still, either, having drifted from his hair to his neck to his shoulders and now down his chest, but that wasn’t really the same kind of Forbidden Zone as _her_ chest, of course. Still, _certain_ areas, especially some of the ones Clark had always thought were rather silly and useless on males, seemed _especially_ sensitive to her touch, and they sent _very_ clear messages down the line to the more usual bundles of nerves until Clark was gasping for breath even though technically he didn’t need to breathe at all. Her fingers burned through the fabric of his shirt, so hot that he started to worry a little bit about her literal flame-inducing abilities, until he realized she wasn’t touching him _through_ the shirt at all anymore. Bowties and buttons were being undone, slowly but surely, and her hands were skating all over bare skin that felt as raw as when he’d first been scorched by the sign of his birth parents.

He really wouldn’t have thought it was such a big deal. If they’d known each other better during the summer, she could have come out to the farm and seen him working with his shirt off any number of times, whenever he thought the weather allowed him to get away with it. The warm sun on his skin felt so good, Clark swore he could almost feel his body soaking up the light and storing it away, like a battery charging endlessly. In fact, the only thing that felt better on his skin than the sunlight turned out to be Alice’s fingers—and even that was quickly replaced on the top of the list by Alice’s mouth, as she trailed her lips over his collar bone and the hollow of his throat.

Clark tipped his head back against the side window, invoking a deity or two and mentally urging her to go lower, lower, to lick and suck and nibble on all those sensitive places he was just discovering. The idea that perhaps—turnabout being fair play—he might soon get to do the same thing to _her_... mouth on pale, bare skin normally kept hidden by creative clothing... led to a slightly embarrassing involuntary twitch of his hips and a curse barely bitten back.

She was saying something, he realized, something she didn’t normally say at this sort of moment, but his mind was foggy and hazy and he didn’t catch it right away. The next thing he knew his hands were being pulled away from his new favorite not-quite-as-Forbidden-Zone, and Clark figured he’d been reprimanded in some way. Well, _she_ was the one who started unbuttoning his shirt, that sort of pushed it to a whole new lev—oh, _zipper_ , that’s what she was saying. He fumbled awkwardly with the zipper at the back of her dress that she guided his hands towards, his coordination being kind of shot at the moment, but he finally eased it down to her waist and then went back, eager to explore this new territory—and Ho. Ly. S—t. That was the back of her _bra_ , and somehow it _would_ unlock, although he was fuzzy on the details, and he didn’t want to try it just yet because he wanted to just revel in the fact that he was touching _way_ more of her naked— _naked_ —back than he ever had before, and if she was going to let him slide those dress straps down her pale shoulders, structurally speaking, the... bodice or whatever would just naturally fall away...

Trying to pace himself, Clark thought of “bodice rippers,” what some of his mother’s friends derisively called the romance novels in the dime store with the men and women on the covers who were practically popping out of their clothes. He often spied those novels later at the women’s houses, tucked away behind a large flower arrangement or under a couch cushion, and the models were always in the most ridiculous positions, with the woman half bent over the man’s arm or something like that. All the better to show off their respective bulges, he supposed. Never had he seen a novel with the cover showing two teenagers sprawled across the cab of a truck, awkwardly gripping clothes and seat and flesh to keep from slipping in the middle of a moment where it would just be _painful_ to suddenly crack heads together.

The front of the dress came down, and then it was just thin, lacey fabric separating Clark’s hands from those warm, soft mounds he wanted to explore again, and she was squeezed back against him with her mouth going lower, down the center of his chest, then veering off to one side, until it got to—“F—k,” Clark hissed, and his hips jerked and his head snapped back against the window, and suddenly the window wasn’t there anymore, just cold air, and he made a completely ungraceful landing against the door of the truck.

Alice froze above him, then pulled back as he turned to examine the damage. Yep, one window, completely gone. Safety glass shattered into millions of tiny shards that mixed with the snow on the shoulder of the road, all of it glittering in the moonlight. He looked back at Alice, who had her hands clasped over her mouth—all the better to disguise her expression, he decided. Clark propped an elbow on the part of the door where the window should have been, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed the sigh of a teenager fated to be continually interrupted in his pursuit of the ultimate natural high.

Alice emitted a strange sound, and he glanced at her, suspecting what it was. “Go ahead,” he told her with resignation.

She pulled her hands away and started giggling. “I’m sorry, Clark,” she said after several long moments of snickering. “You didn’t hurt yourself, I guess?”

“No, no, I’m perfectly fine,” he admitted. “Which is not really going to help when I’m trying to explain this to my dad...”

Mentioning the Parents pretty much signaled the moment was over, for the time being, and Alice tried to adjust her dress back to its original form as Clark reluctantly rebuttoned his shirt. The bowtie was a lost cause—only Lex seemed to know how to do them properly—but Clark figured it wouldn’t be _unusual_ for a guy to untie it at the end of the night anyway, since it was a little constraining and all (or so Pete had told him).

“Can you zip me back up, please?” Alice asked oh-so-innocently, and they almost started a _new_ moment until a stray breeze wafting into the truck reminded Clark that he needed time to come up with a convincing story that wasn’t going to make his parents freak out and lock him in the basement until he was thirty. Given the choice between a broken window he had to explain and tackling a meteor mutant, however, Clark definitely decided he would pick the former... especially if the window had been broken in this _particular_ manner. So really, he decided as he pulled the truck back onto the road and pointed it towards Alice’s house, this _still_ counted as a night uninterrupted by disaster. So far.

 

“...well come back next week and I’ll kick your a-s at _Space Warriors 5_ again,” Lex invited amiably, walking Clark out the door of the mansion.

“When you put it like that, how can I refuse?” the teenager joked in return. He always saved Lex’s delivery for last, so he could spend a couple extra hours with his friend playing pool, watching a movie, just talking. It was kind of a tradition by now.

As Lex opened the door to let Clark out, the teenager suddenly remembered why he hadn’t wanted his friend to walk him to his truck—but it was too late. “Classy window covering you’ve got there,” Lex mused, looking at the plastic sheeting duct-taped over the passenger-side window of the truck.

“Um, yeah...” Clark stammered, feeling the warmth rush to his cheeks. “I, um, broke it.”

Lex arched an eyebrow at him. “And how did you do that?”

_Remember the story,_ Clark told himself firmly. “Um... After the Winter Formal, Alice and I were driving home, and, um...” Lex’s other eyebrow shot up and Clark almost caved. Almost. “...we hit this big patch of ice and slid right into a tree branch.”

“A tree branch,” Lex repeated flatly.

“Yep,” Clark agreed, staring at the plastic-covered window. “Shattered the window.” There was a pause, and Clark felt he should add a little more realism to the story. “Alice was okay, though.”

“Good,” the older man nodded, his tone odd. Clark couldn’t tell if his story had worked or not. “A little piece of advice from someone with more experience in these matters...” Lex began, and Clark gave a long-suffering sigh. His dad had been full of “advice” about driving on icy roads, too. “Next time, let Alice be on top. Or at least open the door first.”

 

Part III: Third Base

_~Halfway through senior year (late winter/early spring)_

 

Math tests. Mrs. Lupinsky, his ancient English teacher. Sheep. Basketball, staplers, his stuffed animals, planetary alignments, Teletubbies—

“Clark?” A breathless whisper in the dark.

The rules of poker, the multiplication table, Avogadro’s number, what the h—l Avogadro’s number _meant_ —“Hold still. Just a second.” A brief history of the Napoleonic War, the implausibility of the time travel scenario in the latest sci-fi movie he and Lex had seen—

Clark sighed. Okay. That was close. But he had things under control now. For the most part. “Clark?”

“Sorry.” He was glad the loft was dark enough to hide his blush. She could probably feel it though, on that pale skin only inches away, nearly glowing in the moonlight, soft mounds rising from black lace—and this really wasn’t _helping_ … He rolled off a bit, leaning against the back of the musty couch, breathing in some of the cold, dusty air pouring in through the open loft window. He didn’t need to breathe—but he _did_ need to cool off.

She turned on her side to face him and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Clark.”

“It’s not your fault,” he answered automatically.

“No?” she smirked. “Then who _were_ you thinking of?”

He smiled at that and leaned across the few inches to kiss her—a gentle kiss, a pleasant kiss, not a ‘get the sand, the barn’s on fire’ kiss. She trailed a finger down his bare chest, idly, as if she didn’t know what else to do with that hand.

“You know, Clark…” Alice began carefully. “Maybe we should think about…”

“Yeah,” he breathed. Her bare, smooth leg was sliding between his. Frozen lemonade, church socials, zebras, zebra prints, zebra prints like the one on Alice’s bedspread— _F—k_. “Alice!” he hissed suddenly, hand clamping down on her thigh. He maneuvered it carefully away from the Danger Zone.

“Sorry!” She sounded genuinely contrite. Sometimes it was difficult to tell if she was teasing him or not, and he hated being teased like that. So he decided to proceed as if she were serious.

“It’s just—I mean—It’s a big—deal, and…”

“Clark. Look at us.” He had been trying to avoid that. His long-sleeved flannel shirt was crumpled on the stairs somewhere below them, and his t-shirt had made it exactly as far as the railing around the loft. His shoes and socks trailed from the stairs to the couch. Her black sweater was draped over the chair at the table; she still had her boots on, though, because he _liked_ her boots. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist. The button of his jeans was undone. He swallowed nervously. “It’s a big deal for me, too,” she continued, cuddling closer, “but I’d say we’re at least three-quarters of the way there already. And unless you _like_ the idea of taking cold showers for the next five years…”

Clark did not like that idea. He had a feeling his parents would, though. Ah, of course, his parents—why didn’t he try that earlier? Now he was _completely_ under control. Which unfortunately meant he had no excuse for not thinking clearly. So instead he stalled. “But you’ve never…”

Alice sighed and repeated her status for him. “No, Clark, I haven’t. The farthest I ever went before was some kissing, with hands restricted to neutral territory.” She was getting a little ticked with him, he could tell when her language started to get technical and formal. He opened his mouth but she cut him off. “And the farthest you’ve gone is some groping with Jessie—in Lex’s Ferrari—and with _Chloe_ ”—he flinched at the way she said the name—“and both of those times you were hopped up on red Kryptonite.” He glared at her in the dark. She didn’t have to make it sound so… lewd, and at the same time, curiously juvenile. She had a way of doing that.

Alice sighed again, but it was a different kind of sigh, a tension-releasing kind. “I’m sorry, Clark,” and this time he knew she was sincere. “It’s just… I want to be _so close_ to you.” She drew a finger down his nose, over his lips, and he opened his mouth a little to nibble at it. “I want to share… _everything_. And I— _G-d_ , I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound like a cheesy love song or a lame pick-up line,” she ended in frustration. He laced his fingers through her other hand. “All I know is that I love you, and I _want_ you, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, not even close, and it really, really kind of scares me but I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else but you.” She rushed through the finish, her voice indicating how inadequate she felt her argument was.

Clark replied the most articulate way he knew how, with a kiss that was more than just gentle or pleasant, definitely not ‘burn down the barn,’ but more ‘picture yourself still waking up to this in twenty years.’ Clark’s kisses had a language of their own.

But words were always a good back-up. “Alice—I love you, and I want you, and despite being, you know, extremely proficient at endless longing”—that was the most oblique way he could think to mention his infatuation with Lana, which had seemed so painful and intense until he met Alice, and then it had pretty much dissolved and shriveled like cotton candy in the rain—“I have never, _ever_ felt this way before. And I think for two invulnerable people we’re really kind of dumb when it comes to the stuff we’re afraid of.” He felt more than saw her smile, from his position. “But it’s a big step that I would only take with you.”

They just lay there quietly for a few minutes, arms wrapped around each other, listening to the trees rustling in the late winter breeze, hearing the occasional motor of a car passing by the main road. It was almost time for dinner, he knew, which meant it was almost time for Alice to go.

She knew it, too, and with great reluctance loosened her hold on him. “So we should discuss a few things first,” she suggested firmly. “Specific details.”

“That’s a good idea,” Clark agreed. “But I think we shouldn’t discuss them now.”

“I agree,” Alice replied quickly. He helped her sit up. “I think we should both be fully clothed, and have the lights on when we discuss it.”

“Probably wise. If not as much fun.” He grabbed her sweater for her as she stood and straightened her skirt.

Alice pulled him up by his belt loops and gave him another kiss. “When should we discuss it?”

“Um…” Clark chastised himself for dropping the thread of the conversation for a moment. “Tomorrow after school?”

“Okay,” Alice smiled. “Tomorrow after school. We’ll discuss it.”

 

Part IV: We Should Discuss a Few Things First

 

A: So.

 

C: Right.

 

A: (pause) Well… then I guess we should discuss a few things first.

 

C: Absolutely. Good idea.

 

A: Where should we… go?

 

C: Go?

 

A: Where should we do… it… _at_?

 

C: Oh. Um… Not my house.

 

A: No kidding. Not mine either.

 

C: Hey, we could ask Lex if—

 

A: No!

 

C: Okay… The loft is kind of…

 

A: Flammable?

 

C: Yeah.

 

A: A, _everywhere_ is kind of flammable; B, I think I’ve got that under control; C, don’t go blaming _me_ for every mysterious scorch mark, Mr. Flames-Shoot-Out-of-My-Eyes-at-the-Thought-of-Sex.

 

C: Hey! That only happened _once_ —um, with you—and that was an exceptional circumstance...

 

A: Pretty shoddy evolutionary design, if you ask me. Incinerating the one you’re supposed to be mating with.

 

C: Ugh. Keep phrasing it like we’re in a nature documentary and there won’t be any _need_ for the rest of this conversation.

 

A: You don’t like that whole... _animal instinct_ thing? That... _primal urge_?

 

C: Um, well, uh... I kind of like that whole, um... _free will_ thing better...

 

A: Good mood killer, that. Free will versus predestination versus instinct. Very sexy.

 

C: Um, weren’t we supposed to be discussing something, though? Something _important_?

 

A: You were arguing against the loft.

 

C: Right—straw, dry wood…

 

A: Fine. Think of someplace else.

 

C: Um… A motel?

 

A: Around _here_? They’d recognize us. Besides, a motel costs money. (pause) What about your truck? The back, I mean, wouldn’t want to bust another window.

 

C: Ha. Maybe… You don’t think that’d be...

 

A: What?

 

C: ...trashy or anything?

 

A: Well, it’s not going to be us, your hound dog, an old Crows blanket, and a bunch of crushed beer cans, is it?

 

C: Since I don’t have a dog, probably not.

 

A: Then I’m sure my delicate sensibilities will not be offended.

 

C: We could drive to the woods or something.

 

A: Mmmm… that would be nice. With the trees…

 

C: Wait—there’s a raft anchored in the middle of Hobb’s Pond.

 

A: A raft?

 

C: Yeah, the kids swim out to it in the summer and stuff. We could just go there.

 

A: On a raft in the middle of a pond?

 

C: It’s not very flammable.

 

A: I suppose…

 

C: Out in nature, under the stars…

 

A: Hmmm…

 

C: Or, we could think of something else…

 

A: No, I like the raft idea. It sounds nice. Very romantic.

 

C: Okay then.

 

A: So that’s settled.

 

C: Yeah…

 

A: So the next thing.

 

C: Which is?

 

A: Um… safety.

 

C: Well—isn’t that why we’re going to the middle of a pond?

 

A: No! Not _that_ kid of safety…

 

C: (pause) Oh. Ohhhh…

 

A: Yeah…

 

C: You mean, should… _we_ bring some…

 

A: Right.

 

C: Well… um, I guess I could buy some… in _Metropolis_ or something…

 

A: Which is like five minutes away for you.

 

C: Well, yeah. For you, too.

 

A: My mom might have some around. I mean, she and Lex…

 

C: Yeah, let’s not start that subject.

 

A: Good idea.

 

C: (pause) Do we really need them, though? I mean, neither of us is going to… get sick or anything. Even if it weren’t the first...

 

A: It _is_.

 

C: I _know_. I’m just saying, even if it weren’t...

 

A: Yeah… but I could get pregnant. Maybe. Anyway, we shouldn’t _assume_ that I couldn’t. And I don’t know if the Pill would work on me. Definitely it wouldn’t work for, like, weeks or something.

 

C: I hadn’t thought of that. I guess we should get some then.

 

A: We should call them by name.

 

C: What?

 

A: I mean, if we’re really ready to do… this, we should be able to say…

 

C: (clears throat) Condoms?

 

A: Condoms. Also… sex.

 

C: Sex. There, we said it.

 

A: Okay, that’s good then. (pause) Hey, what if things aren’t compatible?

 

C: What do you mean?

 

A: Well—no offense, but… the parts _most_ people can see look human enough, but what if the _other_ parts aren’t—

 

C: They are!

 

A: Well, don’t get worked up about it, I’m just saying, there might be differences…

 

C: Well, I mean, you didn’t _notice_ any differences when we...

 

A: Clark. A, I didn’t really get the chance for a _thorough_ scientific study; B, I wasn’t really in the _mood_ to do a thorough scientific study; and C, how the h—l would _I_ know what’s normal?

 

C: Well, everything is... like in the textbooks in health class. (pause) More or less.

 

A: More? Or less?

 

C: Alice!

 

A: Just a little bit of humor, to lighten the mood.

 

C: (mumble) Like I’m not insecure enough about that already...

 

A: What was that?

 

C: I said, J---s C----t, I’m going to be nervous enough as it is, without worrying that you’re going to... pull out a ruler or something...

 

A: Oh, Clark, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to have some fun—it’s supposed to be fun, enjoyable, right? Or else why do it?

 

C: ‘Cause it hurts a h—l of a lot when you _stop_ halfway through.

 

A: You’re getting a little snippy now, aren’t you?

 

C: I’m... not.

 

A: Clark. Spanky Daddy. Beautiful Plastic Smile.

 

C: I should never have let you look at those Pet Name Generators online.

 

A: Clark... A, I _suspect_ you’re fine; B, I don’t have anything to compare it to anyway; C, I am _not_ going to interrupt things by bringing out school supplies, at least not the _first_ time—

 

C: Alice!

 

A: And D, I don’t care _what_ you’ve got under the hood, I. Want. It.

 

(pause in conversation for a few minutes)

 

C: Um, were we discussing something?

 

A: Oh, yeah. D—n. We were discussing whether your stuff was compatible.

 

C: I think we had moved past that part. But that makes me wonder if _your_... stuff is--

 

A: What are you _talking_ about? Of _course_ it is!

 

C: Just checking.

 

A: _I’m_ not an alien.

 

C: You don’t have a spaceship. But you never know…

 

A: I don’t _think_ I’m an alien…

 

C: I didn’t think I was, either. (pause) I was just kidding you, Alice. I’m sorry…

 

A: No, that’s okay...

 

C: Well, Alice, I promise that even if your stuff _isn’t_... usual, I’m going to find _something_ to do with it.

 

A: That’s a great comfort to me, Clark.

 

C: Oh, don’t be sore, Alice...

 

A: I probably will be by the time you and your _spaceship_ get done with me.

 

C: My _spaceship_? You haven’t even seen it yet and you’re giving it a nickname?

 

A: I thought guys always named their... whatever. For some bizarre reason.

 

C: Well, I don’t know if they _always_ do. But I think it makes sense.

 

A: Of course you would.

 

C: I mean... you wouldn’t want a _stranger_ making all your decisions for you, would you?

 

A: Oh, G-d.

 

C: Really, it’s like it has a mind of its own sometimes. _You_ don’t have any body parts that do that.

 

A: I think you have just identified why the world ruled by _man_ has long been troubled by fear and strife.

 

C: Well, that’s hardly _my_ fault. I’m not even _from_ this world.

 

A: That’s a good point. Perhaps you come from a matriarchal society. (pause) So what’d you name yours?

 

C: Um, what?

 

A: You said it made sense to name it. Thus implying that you have, in fact, named yours.

 

C: That doesn’t imply that.

 

A: Yes it does.

 

C: No it doesn’t.

 

A: Clark.

 

C: It doesn’t.

 

A: Did you or didn’t you? Name yours?

 

C: Um, well...

 

A: Yes?

 

C: (mumble)

 

A: What?

 

C: I said no, actually.

 

A: Clark!

 

C: I’m serious! I mean, I always thought it was kind of funny that other guys... did, but I guess I figured... mine didn’t really _need_ a name. I mean, there’s only the _one_ —

 

A: That’s good to know.

 

C: -- it’s not like I’m going to get it mixed up with something else...

 

A: You’re serious, no name?

 

C: Yes. (pause) Maybe _you_ could pick a name, after you’ve been, you know... introduced.

 

A: Mmm, that’s a good idea...

 

(pause in conversation for a few minutes)

 

C: Right. Anyway.

 

A: Yes. (pause) Have you ever considered the _odds_ that a planetary environment would evolve sentient beings with an outward appearance so similar to humans—

 

C: _Alice_... We were talking about, you know... _sex_ , which doesn’t seem like a topic _most_ seventeen-year-olds would want to stray from.

 

A: We’re _still_ talking about... sex. I’m saying, an _outward_ appearance similar to humans—

 

C: (sigh) You know, I’ve read that some girls name _their_... parts.

 

A: Yeah, I think I read that in _Cosmo_. I guess... mine don’t really have names, though. I mean, they don’t really exist as separate entities in my mind. It’s not like they... (sigh) come when you call them.

 

C: Well I don’t know, maybe it depends on who calls...

 

A: That was a purely unintentional pun. And, anyway, none of my body parts have names, because they’ve never really been... um, admired on an individual basis.

 

C: What?

 

A: Mmm, I hate to disappoint you, but you probably aren’t going to be inspired to write a sonnet.

 

C: What do you mean? You’re _perfect_!

 

A: Well... thank you, Clark, but... I mean, I’m not _perfect_ perfect, like, _actually_ perfect...

 

C: _I_ think you’re perfect-perfect...

 

A: Well, I think _you_ are, too... Perfect for _me_ , anyway... I am _so_ glad no one else is here right now, they’d be _gagging_...

 

C: Yeah, well... I’m glad no one else is here for another reason...

 

(pause in conversation for a few minutes)

 

A: (clears throat) Well, anyway…

 

C: Yes. Anyway.

 

A: Anything else we should discuss first?

 

C: Mmmm… date and time?

 

A: Tomorrow? Is that enough time to get the...

 

C: Well, since that will take, like, fifteen minutes, yeah, I guess...

 

A: Okay then. What time?

 

C: Um... Ten o’clock?

 

A: AM or PM? (pause) Just kidding! We could just meet by the pond.

 

C: Yeah, I probably shouldn’t take the truck. My parents might hear it.

 

A: Good thought.

 

C: Okay. (pause) Do you want… food or anything?

 

A: Mmmm… no, that’s okay. Let’s not get too kinky the first time.

 

C: Alice!

 

A: I like to see you blush.

 

C: How come _you_ never blush, anyway?

 

A: I don’t know, Clark, how come I can... crush walnuts with my bare hands?

 

C: You know, that’s not really something you want to say to a guy right about now...

 

A: Sorry. It was the first thing that popped into my mind. Don’t know why _that_ could be. (pause) And anyway, I do _so_ blush. I’m very fair-skinned, it should be easy to tell...

 

C: It’s that big-city living. You jaded city kids don’t embarrass as easily as us naive country folk.

 

A: Yeah, well, you ‘naive country folk’ are around mating livestock all the time, so you’d think you’d be used to it...

 

C: We usually turn away when we spot mating livestock, to give them some ‘alone time’...

 

A: That’s very understanding of you. Us jaded city kids would probably point and laugh.

 

(pause in conversation for a few minutes)

 

C: Stay focused.

 

A: Right. Yes. Under the stars will be nice. The raft was a good idea.

 

C: Good. Um… Unfortunately there’s a couple chores I have to do that I can’t speed through…

 

A: Yeah, I have to go home for dinner. I’ll, um, look around for some…

 

C: Me too.

 

A: Okay.

 

C: I was just kidding before, Alice. About the... I’m sorry.

 

A: It’s okay. I know. Maybe I just have spaceship envy?

 

C: I don’t want to think about that statement anymore. I have to go feed the cows now...

 

A: That’s a unique euphemism.

 

C: It’s not... It’s... Um...

 

A: You were saying?

 

C: You have to... go away now, because I have to feed the cows, and I don’t want them to think I’m... happy to see _them_ or something.

 

A: You’re right. Those cows are _such_ gossips. (pause) Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at school, okay?

 

C: Okay. Bye.

 

A: Bye.

 

 

Part V: Home Run

 

It was 10:06pm and Alice was standing on the shore of Hobb’s Pond, staring up at the stars, at the little waves lapping at the few inches of beach, at the dark trees surrounding her, anywhere but at the raft tethered in the middle of the sparkling black water. She didn’t want to hyperventilate or anything. Her heightened hearing picked up a rustling from the woods and a moment later a spot of light bobbed into view, followed by Clark.

“Hi,” he said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek that seemed ridiculously chaste given what they had planned tonight.

“Hi,” she responded, feeling a little awkward. “Um, what’s with the flashlight?”

Clark flicked it off, leaving only moonlight and starlight to illuminate the scene around them. It was more than enough, really. “It was just for getting through the trees,” he shrugged. “It’s really dark in there.”

Alice looked at him quizzically—at least, he _thought_ her expression was quizzical, it was a little hard to tell with the silvery light casting unusually long shadows over everything. “You can’t see in the dark?”

He stared at her, trying to divine if she was teasing him. “Um... no.” Her face didn’t change. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

He squinted at her again. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Clark!” she told him with some exasperation, “I can see in the dark. I’ve always been able to see in the dark. It seems really odd this hasn’t come up before.”

“Huh. Yeah.” Clark took a moment to quickly review his and Alice’s interactions that occurred in the dark, in case there was anything he’d done when he didn’t think she could see that he could now be embarrassed about. Several things came to mind. “So when we were in my truck and I—“

“Yeah.” She smiled fondly. “That was cute.”

He tried to glare. At least he knew the effect wouldn’t be lost in the darkness. “Have you been keeping this a secret?”

“Paranoia, paranoia,” she chanted, sliding her arms around his waist to pull him closer. “You’re starting to sound like Lex. Grandma said he had the whole house swept for bugs today.”

“Mmmm...” Lex and bugs were not what Clark wanted on his mind right now, not with Alice pressed so closely against him. And her grandmother was definitely out as well. “Kind of ruins the whole... _under cover of darkness_ thing, though,” he pointed out.

Alice smiled up at him as her fingers massaged his lower back. “Well, I want to be able to see how far down that blush goes,” she whispered coyly, and Clark’s blood definitely started moving.

 

 

 

Part VI: Post-Game

 

“So which one is yours again?”

“ _Was_. It _was_ right there. You see? It was the other eye of the wolf.”

“That’s really cool, Clark.”

“Cool? That my home planet was destroyed in some kind of cataclysm?”

Alice pinched him. Unlike with most people’s pinches, he didn’t have to _pretend_ he felt it. They were lying on the raft, Clark on his back, Alice curled up against him. The blanket was draped over them more because it seemed the _thing_ to do, rather than because they were cold. “No, I mean it’s _cool_ that you know at least a little bit about _where_ you came from and _why_ you can do stuff.”

Clark shrugged against her. “I dunno. I guess.” He sighed. “But every new thing I learn just seems to bring up a dozen more questions. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know anything.”

They were quiet for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the water and the birds and the leaves rustling in the cool breeze. They hadn’t yet gotten around to discussing... _it_ —kind of like when they went to see a movie, Clark decided. Even if they were both really excited about the movie, even if they both had really liked it, for some reason neither of them brought the subject up for at least ten or fifteen minutes after leaving the theater. Sometimes it wasn’t until hours, even days, later that one of them finally asked what the other had thought about it. Clark really hoped they weren’t going to wait _that_ long in this instance.

“So...” Alice began after a moment, curling even closer, although Clark hadn’t thought that was physically possible. “Everything seemed to... fit okay.”

Clark thought he should be irritated by that, but his general state of good feeling only let him snicker. “That’s a fabulous endorsement,” he told her.

“That was just the _opening_ statement, not the summary,” Alice protested, turning her head to nip at what skin she could reach.

“Well, for _my_ opening statement,” Clark decided, “I want to point out that I did _not_ , in fact, cause any of our clothing to fall into the pond. Despite your multiple expressions of concern.”

Alice glanced worriedly at the pile of clothes and shoes in the corner of the raft at their feet, making sure it hadn’t moved. “I should’ve brought a... cooler or something to pack them in, something watertight that floats, just in case...”

“Wouldn’t _that_ have been hilarious, washing up in a creek in Grandville or something,” Clark smirked, trailing his hand through her hair. “’Police today found an unmarked cooler containing two complete sets of clothing, including shoes, one belonging to a man and one to a woman. They suspect foul play may have been involved and are currently dredging the surrounding waterways for two naked bodies...’”

“Probably not _quite_ enough to make Chloe’s Wall of Weird,” Alice decided. After a moment, she continued, “Well, moving on to the assessment part...”

Clark groaned. “Is _this_ when the checklist and the ruler come out?”

Alice ignored that. “Picture, if you can, me and a hand-held showerhead...”

Clark gulped at the imagery. “Okay, I’m... picturing it...”

Alice smiled and shifted her leg, socked foot rubbing Clark’s calf. “Yes, I can tell. So—this was _way_ better than me alone in the shower...”

Clark rolled on his side, pulling her closer and nuzzling her neck. “How about you, alone in the shower, and _me_?”

She giggled as best she could with Clark’s mouth tasting all the skin that had heretofore been restricted. “I take it that means you weren’t repulsed by anything in particular?”

“Holy c—p, Alice,” Clark exclaimed, one hand sliding down her back, “if you’re repulsive I’ve developed one h—l of an ugly kink...”

She laughed aloud at that, despite what his hands were doing to her. “Oh, G-d, I’ve corrupted you, listen to the way you talk after just once...”

“Imagine how I’ll be talking by the end of the night...”

A moment later. “Hang on, hang on, hang on...”

“What? What’s wrong?” Clark asked, frowning.

“I just, um... Let’s wait a few more minutes,” Alice suggested awkwardly.

“Isn’t that supposed to be _my_ line?” Clark pointed out, trying for a smile.

“It’s just, um...” She squirmed a little bit. “I’m a little... Remember what I said about you and your spaceship?”

It took a moment for Clark to figure out what she meant, given that a good portion of his blood wasn’t actually in his brain. “Oh my G-d,” he replied, pulling back in horror when it finally dawned on him. Alice sighed and practically had to chase him to the other side of the raft. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did I—“

“Clark, it’s _perfectly normal_ to be a little sore afterwards, the first few times,” Alice assured him. “I read it on the Internet.”

“Where?” he demanded. “A ‘sex with aliens’ website?”

“You’d be surprised how many there are,” Alice deadpanned, drawing him back into her embrace. “Clark,” she continued more seriously, “I think we have successfully demonstrated that everyone present is completely compatible and functioning well within the norm for humans...”

“Hmmph,” he snorted, wrapping his arms around her. After a few moments he added, “Well, if that was ‘within the norm for humans’ I can see why there’s six billion people on the planet...”

 

 

Part VII: The Day After

 

“Morning, man,” Pete greeted, slapping Clark on the back. “How you doin’ today?”

_Nope, didn’t have sex last night, if that’s what you mean._ “Um, hey, Pete,” Clark replied, digging his trigonometry book out of his locker. “I’m fine...” Pete’s expression seemed unusually jovial today. “How are you?”

“I am _superfine_ ,” Pete assured him, a broad grin splitting his face. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You remember Amy Larson—tall, blond, volleyball team?”

“Yeah,” Clark replied slowly, stacking his books for his morning classes. “You had a date with her last night, didn’t you?” _I didn’t have a date last night, and I definitely didn’t have sex on that date..._

“Oh, yeah. And _what_ a date it was, Clark.” Pete sighed happily and rolled his eyes heavenward. Clark smirked a little bit. “Now you know I’m not one to kiss and tell, Clark...”

“Right,” his friend agreed dryly. _No telling from me, ‘cause there was certainly no kissing..._

“...but let me just set the scene for you,” Pete went on. “Imagine Amy in a little fluffy white skirt—“

“Like a sheep or something?” _Ha. Sheep. See? Not every thought is about the sex I totally didn’t have last night..._

Pete ignored his comment. “—sitting in my beautiful blue Trans Am, parked out in Baker’s Field under the stars—“

“Sounds kind of cramped,” Clark observed as they moved down the hall. “She _is_ pretty tall.” _Not that I would know anything about being tall and being cramped in vehicles when trying to have sex... since I really didn’t have sex in a car last night... or in fact at all..._

“Clark,” Pete said sharply, “you are not going to ruin my moment of ecstasy for me.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I really want to hear all the details of your ‘moment of ecstasy,’” he admitted to Pete. “Besides, haven’t you only known Amy for, like, a _month_?” _Yes, Alice and I have been dating for a year and a half but no, we’ve never had sex, especially not last night..._

Pete shook his head in a friendly but slightly condescending fashion. “Clark,” he pointed out, “not all of us want to be virgins until we’re thirty-five.” _Um, yep, that would be me, of course._ “Despite having a girlfriend who looks like _that_.”

Pete nodded towards Alice, who stood just down the hall by her locker, talking to Lana and Chloe. She was dressed in knee-high black books, fishnet tights, a red leopard-print skirt accented with a skull and crossbones that would no doubt have Principal Reynolds appearing with _his_ ruler any moment to make sure it was long enough for the Smallville High dress code, and a short-sleeved button-down black shirt that appeared to be painted on. _Nope, I don’t know what’s under that shirt, nope, I don’t know how smooth that skin is, nope, I don’t know how her face looks when she’s about to—_ Clark ripped his gaze away from Alice and turned back to Pete, knowing his face was as red as Alice’s skirt. The other teenager sighed and added, “Man, if Alice weren’t your girlfriend, I’d _totally_ go after her, despite the Goth thing.”

Clark gave him a dubious look. “Yeah, and then she’d kick your _butt_ to the other side of the parking lot,” he snorted. _’Cause she only wants to have sex with me, me, ME-- not that we did of course..._

Pete rolled his eyes, unwilling to debate the issue since he knew Clark was probably right. “Anyway,” he continued, “for the innocent and squeamish among you”—he looked pointedly at Clark, who was after all the only other person listening to him; _Innocent, virginal, pure, unspoiled, that is so me_ —“I will abbreviate my moment of ecstasy, with Amy Larson, in my car in Baker’s Field, and I will just say that—“ He heaved a sigh of pure delight. “I saw fireworks, man.”

_I know what you mean. Er, I mean, nope, no clue._ “Come on,” Clark teased him. “Did you hit your head on the door or something?”

Pete gave him a pained look. “No, I did not,” he protested. “It was _fireworks_ , man, shooting stars, lights in seven colors bursting across the sky.” He smiled smugly. “Amy said she saw them, too, so never let it be known that Pete Ross does not know how to please the ladies.”

Clark was about to retort when the trio of girls wandered over and both guys wisely decided to drop the subject for the moment. Alice greeted Clark with a quick kiss and slid an arm around his waist. _Nope, I haven’t seen her for a good ten hours, honest, not since we finished studying for that physics test last night._ Chloe was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Did you guys hear about this?” she demanded.

Clark glanced at Alice questioningly and she gave him an amused look in return. “Hear about what?” _Let’s try to focus on the conversation and not on the sex we really didn’t have last night... Wow, Alice smells_ good _..._

“Chloe thinks she has another story to investigate for her Wall of Weird,” Lana told them, clutching her textbook to her fuzzy-sweatered chest.

“I’ve heard from at least _seven_ people today about the strange lights they saw, repeatedly, last night over Smallville,” Chloe explained, opening her notebook.

“Strange lights?” Clark questioned, turning to smirk at Pete, whose face had fallen. “Like fireworks, shooting stars, lights in seven colors bursting across the sky?” _You are so busted, pal. Did you even_ have _sex last night?_

Chloe stared at him. “You saw them too?”

Clark shook his head quickly. “No... but I think I found you a couple more witnesses.” He arched an eyebrow at Pete, whose expression was murderous. _Have you_ ever _had sex? Or have you always been all talk?_

“Really?” Chloe waited eagerly. “Who? Where were they at when they saw them?”

“Baker’s Field,” Clark supplied helpfully when Pete set his jaw and refused to answer. _Oh my G-d, did I have sex before Pete? The way he talks, you’d think he’d done it a hundred times by now..._

Chloe ignored the interplay and scribbled a few notes in her spiral-bound. “If I calculate the trajectory from Baker’s Field...” she muttered, concentrating intensely, “...angle of ascent... combined with the previous data...”

“Chloe’s gotten a head start on that physics test,” Lana pointed out cheerfully, as the others stared.

“Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm,” Chloe nodded to herself, then jerked her head up with a grin of triumph. She flipped the notebook around to display her scrawled diagram. “Based on the evidence given by the nine different witnesses,” she concluded, as they squinted at the tangle of lines and circles, “I have calculated that the lights were located above... Hobb’s Pond.”

_Oh s—t._ Clark felt Alice’s arm tense around his back, and he knew his was doing the same. The expressions on their faces froze into the same skeptical look Lana and Pete were giving Chloe. “According to my sources,” the blond went on, “the lights were actually seen at _three_ separate times—10:45, 12:15, and 2:30.” Alice’s grip would have been painful if Clark had been anyone else. _The time when she... oh, yeah, and then the time that we were... and G-d, the last time... F—k._

“That doesn’t seem that strange to _me_ ,” Alice replied, and Clark was amazed at how normal her voice sounded. “I mean, isn’t there a raft in the middle of Hobb’s Pond? Maybe it was just some kids—shooting off fireworks.” _G-d, Alice, you are so clever, I could just have sex with you right here... Um, except for not in front of everyone..._

“Yeah,” Clark agreed, clearing his throat in what he hoped was a casual way. “I mean, it’s probably illegal, but it’s not really... weird.” _Chloe, you_ will _buy this explanation, because if you don’t, I may never get to have sex again..._

Chloe looked put out at this assessment. “No one heard any _sounds_ , though,” she persisted. _Thank G-d._ “If it had been fireworks people would have heard the noise.” She turned to Pete for support. “Right, Pete?” He just glared and shook his head, his ‘moment of ecstasy’ shattered. “Lana?”

The brunette wrinkled her nose apologetically. “I think maybe you were up a little late last night studying,” she suggested gently.

Chloe gave them all a disgusted look. “I’m going to figure this out,” she warned them, “and when I find that it was... a byproduct of meteor rock dust combustion, or something, you’re going to wish you’d been a little less mocking.” Clark decided that when the advice columns pointed out how sex can complicate a relationship, this wasn’t exactly what they had in mind. _So, crisis averted... when can we do it again?_


End file.
